


The Mysteries of Ladies' Knickers

by songlin



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: F/M, Genderswap, Historical, Smut, fem!aziraphale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-26
Updated: 2011-12-26
Packaged: 2017-10-28 04:57:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/303974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/songlin/pseuds/songlin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Somewhere in the fall of 1963, Aziraphale was issued a new body. Later, he was never entirely sure if the mix-up following the assignment of its replacement was intentional or purely accidental. He had his suspicions. Crowley was not sure how to feel about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Mysteries of Ladies' Knickers

Somewhere in the fall of 1963, Aziraphale was issued a new body. Later, he was never entirely sure if the mix-up following the assignment of its replacement was intentional or purely accidental. He had his suspicions.

His previous body had met a highly unusual fate (bookshelf, cows, half a bottle of brandy), after which Upstairs was rather reluctant to put him back into the field. Aziraphale suspected it had something to do with dropping the ball on the whole Cuba thing. Naturally, they put him through the runaround, pretending they were trying to give him a lovely bonus for his years of work. Didn’t he want and upgrade from that tired old thing? A little taller, perhaps? Younger? Try going brunette maybe? Aziraphale turned them all down, naturally, but somewhere along the line either the paperwork had gotten mixed up or someone was laughing really, really hard at his expense.

He could never really remember coming back down, exactly. He’d just sort of...stop being Up There, and then he’d be in his bookshop, all physically tangible again. So he went to carry things on as usual, opening his wardrobe and getting dressed. That was when he realized it.

Five minutes later, Crowley’s phone rang.

“Hello? Aziraphale? You’ll never believe what Downstairs is planning for that randy president over in--what’s wrong with your voice?”

It was another twenty minutes before Crowley had stopped laughing long enough to drive to Aziraphale’s.

The door to the bookshop opened with a squealing of unused hinges and a puff of dust. It was only natural, considering the shopkeeper had been out with a touch of dead for some time, but it didn’t make it stick in the lungs any less. He coughed.

“Crowley, is that you?” Aziraphale called from behind a shelf. “Get over here.”

“Well, I would,” he said tentatively, “but it’s too dark for bats in here, and I’m afraid I’ll knock over a bookshelf and get you killed again.”

“I told you, cows in mating season are highly unpredictable! That was not my fault!” Aziraphale peeped up from behind a stack of books.

“Good, it’s a straight shot. Stand up, you stupid git, I need to see the damage you’ve done to yourself.” He picked his way through the dust, watching his step carefully.

“I hardly think this can be construed as _my_ fault,” Aziraphale sniffed, but stood up all the same.

Crowley’s mouth immediately went dry.

He-- _she_ \--had obviously not been able to find any clothes that fit to his--HER--satisfaction. She was wearing small rectangular glasses, a large white button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows, a pair of gaudy red silk boxers, and nothing else. Crowley was predictably distracted.

It’s not that she was classically beautiful. She still looked somewhat like her old body, for one thing, just...softer. Her blonde hair was longer, though not quite to her shoulders, and looked gloriously thick. It was shinier, too, despite the dim lighting in the shop. She looked several centimeters shorter than before, and the little bit of pudge he’d always carried had shifted to (very pinchable--noooo, don’t go there Crowley, only madness lies there) soft curves, all smooth lines and warmth. Her face had changed too. It was a little slimmer, the chin more pointed, the hairline lower, nose smaller, eyes larger. She looked quite a bit younger than before, too, maybe thirty at the most.

The overall effect was of a young librarian who had just tumbled out of bed after a really wonderful night’s sleep. Upon seeing her, roughly 67% of sexually active beings would be seized by an almost irresistible urge to tackle her right back into bed.

Crowley was among that number.

“Well?” Aziraphale snapped, crossing her arms defensively in front of her chest. “I’ve notified my superiors, but they’re simply awful about responding in a timely manner.”

Crowley shut his mouth. “I thought you lot had to make more of a conscious effort to be, you know...” He weakly waved an arm at her. “One or the other.”

Aziraphale huffed and tossed her hair. Crowley’s knees felt a little weak.

“They found it’s difficult to blend in with humans if one looks overly androgynous, so generally they pick a sort of...blueprint.”

“Ah,” said Crowley. He looked her up and down again. “Aren’t those mine?”

“Yes. My trousers wouldn’t stay up on this frame, and you left these after you broke my bed.” She scowled. It was adorable.

“That bed was structurally unstable, and you squirm too much!”

“You tied me to the bedpost!”

Crowley cleared his throat. He had, and it had been marvelous, and now he was doing the same to Ms. Aziraphale in his mind.

“You could always just will yourself some new clothes,” he pointed out hastily.

Aziraphale wrinkled her nose, which was also adorable. “They wouldn’t feel right. Besides, women have all sorts of strange underclothes and things and I haven’t the slightest idea what to look for.” She heaved a sigh. “Come now, Crowley, there must be something you can do...”

She was obviously trying for a general air of affectionate condescension, but what came out was petulance. Crowley was swayed immediately.

“I’ll be back in a bit. Don’t go anywhere.”

Aziraphale huffed and set herself to tidying the shop.

By the time Crowley returned, three overjoyed shopgirls working on commission later, the dust was mostly eradicated, at least from the places that mattered, and Crowley’s shirt was thoroughly filthy.

“I’m short!” Aziraphale complained. “Look at this!” She stood on her tiptoes and grabbed the highest shelf she could reach. In the process of doing so, the shirt rose high enough to expose a stripe of bare skin by her hips. Crowley swallowed. “I can’t even get to the top shelf! This is ridiculous.”

Crowley held up his shopping bags. “Found clothes.”

Aziraphale took the bags and dashed up the stairs to her flat with a heavy sigh of relief. “Wait there, Crowley dear, I’ll just be a minute.”

“Er, yes then,” he called, “I’ll, uh...I’ll wait then.”

Crowley stood at the bottom of the stairs, rocking back and forth on his heels, hands in his pockets, trying very hard not to imagine Aziraphale unbuttoning her shirt...sliding it off her shoulders, baring lovely, soft white breasts...slipping the boxers over the curve of her hips and down her legs...

He shook his head.

“Er...Crowley?” a voice called down the stairs. “Do you know how to work this underwear? It looks like something one of your lot thought up.”

“Oh, uh, really?” he called back, trying very hard to sound clever and witty when most of his wits were engaged in beating back the image of Aziraphale in a black lacy bra. “Can’t claim any responsibility myself.”

“This one doesn’t work. I can’t put the silly thing _on_.”

There was an awkward silence. Crowley coughed.

“I could use a hand,” Aziraphale called tentatively.

“I--what--gah,” Crowley stammered. “I don’t know if that’s wise.”

“Crowley, don’t be ridiculous,” the angel called firmly. “You’ve seen me naked before in much less innocent situations.”

He sighed and started up the stairs. “Alright, then. Don’t blame me for whatever happens. You asked me.”

She was facing away from him in the kitchen of the little flat. The boxers were still on, but she had dispensed with the shirt. She was holding up a simple white bra, trying to make sense of the clasp.

When she heard him she turned. “Ah, Crowley. Good. Come here and help--Crowley?”

He was standing at the top of the stairs, tapping his fingers nervously against his legs and looking determinedly at the ceiling. Aziraphale rolled her eyes.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“You’ve got tits,” he said weakly.

“I’ve noticed,” she said dryly.

“They’re quite nice.”

She smiled a little, and unfortunately for her that’s when Crowley opened his eyes.

The smile was _beautiful_.

To Crowley’s benefit, he did not immediately scoop her into his arms and take her on the floor. For a moment, he stayed very, very still.

“Aziraphale,” he said calmly.

“Mm?” said Aziraphale, who was getting a little weak under those red serpent eyes.

“That effort you have to make.”

“Mm.”

“Make it,” Crowley said, and moved.

She was as soft as she looked and her lips were even more so. It was fun, having to lift her up a little to kiss her. She was half a head shorter now, and to reach his lips she had to stand on her toes a little and press herself wholly against him for balance. Crowley wrapped his arms around her back to support her and squeezed her waist. She squeaked against his mouth and he loved it.

“This is good?” she said breathlessly when they paused to rearrange a few limbs.

“Brilliant,” he growled, and kissed her again.

There was so much more to explore! A round, supple arse to squeeze and pinch and slap, defined hipbones to rub his thumbs over, slim ribs to brush your fingers over, and, best of all, the breasts. Aziraphale had been done well in that department. Just a little bigger than what a hand can quite grab with high pink nipples that were hard between his fingers.

Aziraphale squealed when he first grabbed one and her knees almost gave out. “Oh, Crowley!”

“Oh, _yesss_ ,” he hissed. His hissing got out of hand when he was aroused, but he rather liked it. There was ample evidence to suggest Aziraphale enjoyed it even more.

Crowley pressed her to the wall. She braced against it while Crowley spent some quality time with most of her neck and chest. Most of Aziraphale’s joints went to pudding. Crowley grinned and started investigating one nipple with his tongue and the other with his fingers. Aziraphale made a highly undignified noise in an octave she had never before sounded in. Her head lolled back against the wall and she clutched Crowley’s shoulders.

“Oh, Crowley, you bastard, don’t stop,” she gasped. “Don’t you dare stop.”

He growled into her chest. Aziraphale writhed against him, winding a leg around his knees and pulling him against herself. Through the thin boxers she could feel the roughness of his trousers and the burning heat of his own arousal, and it was nearly too much for her.

“Crowley, I hope you don’t want to do that sickeningly romantic thing where we come together, because _ah,_ oh no don’t stop, oh, oh...”

He paused for a moment to grin. “You’re a lady now sssweetheart. You could go all night.” And then he grabbed her around the waist and ground her against him.

Aziraphale’s head hit the wall and she didn’t even care. The noise she made was not quite a scream, but it was at least punctuated with an exclamation point. Crowley gasped. Stars burst behind his eyes, and things got very difficult for him very quickly.

Aziraphale rolled her hips experimentally and moaned. Crowley echoed her and kissed her hungrily. He clutched at her hair and tugged, relishing the needy whimpers it earned him. She rolled her hips again and he pushed back, both wishing he was wearing fewer clothes and indescribably grateful that he was not.

They moved like so for some time, sweat beading in the nooks and crannies of their bodies. They were past words and past conscious noises, and it is an effort to Crowley’s extraordinary self-control that he grabbed her hips with his trembling hands and stilled them.

“Bed?” he said in a low voice.

“Bed,” Aziraphale breathed.

They nearly raced to her bedroom, where Aziraphale immediately set about divesting Crowley of his clothes. By the time they hit the mattress they were naked as the day they were born, which, in Aziraphale’s case at least, was technically that day.

Crowley threw her down and slapped her legs apart with a low, tense laugh. Aziraphale, who had always been a noisy bedfellow, was raising an unparalleled ruckus.

“Oh, Crowley, please, touch me, I can’t stand it, please, Crowley, please...”

“Patiensssce,” he breathed, feeling out those sharp hipbones and running gentle fingers down her thigh. “You should go sssslow your firssst time.” With that, he pushed two fingers gently inside her.

A spasm rocked through her, arching her back violently and wrenching a cry from her throat. Crowley could have come right there, watching her writhe as he curled his fingers cruelly inside of her.

“Oh no,” he breathed.

Aziraphale didn’t stop moving. “Don’t you--ahh--don’t you dare stop now Anthony Crowley,” she whined, balling the sheets in her hands.

“You’re a virgin.”

“Hardly,” she growled, “thanks to--oh, _oh_ , do that again--”

“It’ll hurt,” he protested.

“Oh, don’t--nn, yes, YES--don’t be a baby! Does it--ah, _Crowley_ \--does it look like I’m complaining?” She squirmed, squeezing her legs around his hand. “Oh, just there, almost...”

“There’s the ticket.” He rubbed over her clit with his thumb.

That was the first time Aziraphale screamed.

When her violent shaking settled to a mild trembling, Crowley crawled towards her and kissed her hard on the mouth. He pressed himself just barely against her and she shuddered.

“Good?”

“For a start. Kiss me like that again and we’ll be going for some time.”

“I wasss afraid you’d never assssk,” Crowley breathed, and entered her.

Immediately she let out a hiss of pain and Crowley froze.

“You okay?”

She grimaced and nodded. “I’m okay. It’s just...different. Not all that bad, just...different.”

Crowley ground his teeth and pictured nasty things. Overly sweet perfume, cheap wine, Hastur and Ligur snogging--that one would do.

Aziraphale took a few deep breaths and smiled. It was like the first sunrise on the Garden of Eden. “Really, I’m alright. Come now, Crowley, you’ve waited this long, let’s go.”

“Don’t give me ideasss,” he groaned, and moved.

Almost immediately Aziraphale was moaning again and moving up against him, urgently pressing her body to his, running her fingers through his hair and squeezing his hand. Crowley’s mouth latched onto a nipple and she started babbling her standard long string of porn dialogue.

“Oh, Crowley, yes, please, don’t stop, fuck me Crowley, ah, Crowley, yes, fuck me til I _scream_ , yes, _yes_ , YES--”

And so on.

It didn’t last long. It couldn’t. A man could only survive so much foreplay. Aziraphale was in his arms screaming mostly incoherent things and then all of a sudden it was like madness bursting inside his head.

When their muscles had slackened and the shuddering had stopped, Aziraphale curled up against his chest.

“I think I might actually be able to do that again,” she sighed. “That’s good at least.”

“Maybe you should keep this,” Crowley suggested with a grin.

Aziraphale rolled over and gave him the sort of look that made Crowley think perhaps he’d been a bad influence after all. “My dear fellow,” she said sweetly, “when I get my body back, expect repayment.”

And with that and a light smack on the arse, she was out of bed to ponder the mysteries of bras.


End file.
